


Who Could Be Calling Me

by doomprincess, FeyMeggan



Series: Sophie 'Verse [4]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: 5 Things, Butt Dialing, Cell Phones, F/M, Gen, M/M, Original Female Character - Freeform, Phone Calls & Telephones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 18:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomprincess/pseuds/doomprincess, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeyMeggan/pseuds/FeyMeggan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Clint Barton has accidentally butt-dialed someone he knows.  No, of course he doesn't have his phone locked, that takes to long if he really needs in it now.  Besides, it pisses Tony right off that it's an old iPhone, not the shiny new StarkPhone he tried to give him.  Oh, and the one time he totally meant for it to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Could Be Calling Me

**Author's Note:**

> This was written, by FeyMeggan, I simple am posting for her, with her permission.  
> This story takes place in what I have dubbed 'Sophie-verse', eventually we'll get around to telling you a bit more about her, but enjoy the first interaction here!

1) Sophie

The discreet buzzing of her phone interrupted Sophie's train of thought as she was sketching out a banquet layout. Disgruntled, more at herself for leaving it on vibrate, she pulled it out of her trouser pocket and looked at the caller ID. Lifting one arched brow she answered, “Aberdeen Events, Sophie speaking. Clinton Francis, when did you sneak your number into my phone?” She knew that the sniper had been over the other day, but she would have wagered money on the phone being on her person the whole time.

“...ix, Stark! Dammit I can't get a fix on the target if you keep moving around like that!” There were muted sounds of what was probably repuslor blasts from Iron Man, or maybe small lightning strikes from Thor. The sound of feet scrabbling on roof tar filled the position of the sniper, probably moving even higher on whatever area he'd been dropped. “I've almost got a bead...just...dammit gutter's giving way, I'm gonna need a ride here guys!” The sound of bone hitting brick was a sound she'd come to recognize of late with all the attacks. Wincing she knew that Clinton Francis had most likely just fallen off whatever he was on...banging himself up on the way down.

After listening for a few minutes Sophie rolled her eyes and turned off the phone. Leave it to Hawkeye to butt-dial her during the middle of a mission. Pulling up Phillip Eugene's number she sent out a fast text, Delete my number out of CF's phone before he butt dials me again, <3\. She knew that if he was in the area he'd deal with it, and if he wasn't...well that thought was just silly. He was always in the thick of things, even though he swore he'd be careful. Pulling out a sheet of paper she jotted herself a note to pick up more betadine and cartoon Band-Aids. Clinton Francis particularly liked the Brave ones.

2) Natasha

She'd just got in from an op. It had been a fast one, in and out; get some information from a bunch of crazed militia men up in the mountains of Montana. She'd argued that any agent could pull off the job, but apparently the leader was full on psychotic and the last three they'd sent in had barely made it out. So she'd gone, and surprisingly the fastest solution was to play to the guys fears. He was convinced the 'Reds' were after him. So after a few days recon she scavenged up a thick, dark green jacket and a ridiculous had and pulled the 'Old Mother Russia' routine. Problem solved; and as icing the guy was on his way to a local mental ward. Apparently he'd snapped shortly after she'd 'dropped in'.

But now she was exhausted, and just wanted to sleep for a million hours, and forget that sometimes she got the stupid jobs. She'd just come out of the shower when her phone ran, the opening strains to the Circus Waltz. Draping the towel over her shoulder she snagged it up, “What do you want Barton?” she snapped.

“...ou mean? Of course she could take him in a fight!” The background noise was deafening and Natasha debated ripping Clint’s arms off for the assault on her ears. 

“Clint!” She shouted to be heard over the music/noise. No response. Grumbling she stated to hang up when she caught another snippet of the conversation.

“Nat's too smart to fall for that shit, Stark. That's why I'd always have my money on her, even up against that thing.”

The drunk tones of Tony Stark were a bit harder to hear, but she caught the gist of what he was saying, “C'mon, that's stupid. I'll give you the scary factor, Romanoff’s got that in spades, but against him she'd have to even BIGGER brass balls, and I just don't see that. Nor do I need to know if she has a set. Seriously, don't tell me. I will end you if you start talking Barton.” Natasha could see Clint's expression, that look that said he was going to say it, damn the consequences.

“Didn’t know you had a thin for pegging Stark...though...guess I shouldn't be too surprised.” There was a yelp and a clatter. Clint probably dropped his phone out of his pocket as he jumped away from Tony. Rolling her eyes Natasha turned off the phone and finished toweling off her head. She'd have to pick the best time to freak Tony out with that tidbit. God she loved secret intel.

 

3) Darcy

She wasn't too proud to admit she'd screamed when she got the call. But thankfully no one was around to watch Darcy slap a hand over her mouth to muffle the shriek, nor ask just what caused it. Frantically pulling her earphones out she dove off the ladder, really Jane needed to make that part more accessible, and scrambled for her phone. The jaunty rendition of 'Neville' bounced off the walls of the room Jane had all her equipment stored in. Darcy frantically answered the phone, her tone a low hiss. “You have the worst timing ever! Thor and Jane are getting it on like crazed rabbits and I got stuck hiding in the BASD so they won't know I was here! The last time this happened Thor regaled me with stories Clint! Stories about his virility...with my BOSS. I do NOT need more of those, so this had better damned well be important!”

There was silence on the other end. Glaring at the phone Darcy peeked out to see if the lovebirds had heard her. For once she was glad that 'ye olde godly' couple were ridiculously loud in the sack. Keeping low she scooted her perky behind back up the ladder and back inside the BASD before trying again. “Clint! What do you want??!” Pushing a finger into her ear, mostly to block the 'soundtrack' she blinked at what she could hear on the phone. Was that...it was the sound of...she had no idea. It sounded like Clint was on a bike...which would be dumb. But the constant squeak was very rhythmic and she couldn't think of any other way to describe it.

The sound of a breathy moan, one not coming from the overly enthusiastic astral-physicist or her godly stud muff, told Darcy what she needed to know. Forgetting, in her anger, that she needed to be quiet she bellowed into the phone, “How the hell do you butt-dial someone when you're obviously not wearing your pants you retard!” The last word bounced around the room, and from the sudden silence she guessed everyone had heard that. On both sides of the phone. Dropping her phone into her lap she groaned and covered her eyes just as a blond head peeked into the BASD.

“Why, Lady Darcy, with whom are you having an argument of pants with while here in Jane's machinery?”

 

4) Steve

Steve loved doing grocery runs. True, Tony had a service that delivered. And the pantry was always very well stocked. But, occasionally one of the team would want something that wasn't in the larder, and Steve would volunteer to hit the pavement to fetch it. It gave him a chance to look around the city he loved, even if it wasn't exactly how he remembered it. Much of it was unchanged; the buildings were still where he recalled them, just taller, or flashier. So, that's why Saturday he was muddling his way through the debate of what flavour pop tarts Thor would like versus what flavours Jane would let him eat. Blueberry was right out, he recalled that argument too well, and his ears had been red for hours when Jane had told him why.

He'd just decided on the S'mores and the Strawberry when his phone rang. Juggling the hand basket he finally pulled it out of his pocket. He glanced at the screen and grinned as he answered. “Hey Clint, decide you needed those fruit snacks after all?”

“..ss, dammit Tash you said you'd be gentle!” Clint's voice was wrecked, like he'd been screaming for a while. There was a rustle of fabric and Steve could nearly feel Natasha's breath over the phone when she spoke.

“Stop being such a baby, you said you didn't want me holding back; you wanted 'everything I had'.” There was a wet sound and Steve’s entire face lit up red. He vaguely recalled a fast conversation from Darcy about something called 'butt-dialing' a person. He took it to heart and had placed a lock on his screen so he wouldn't accidental commit this act. Apparently Clint had no such worries. For a minute Steve had no idea what to do. Did he yell into the phone to let them know he could hear them...fonduing? Or should he tell them later when he got back to the tower? A particularly harsh groan tuned his ears pink and he dropped the basket in his haste to hang up the phone.

Crouching to gather things he chewed on his lower lip. He needed advice...but if he asked Tony the billionaire would lord it over both him and Clint for weeks. He could call Bruce, but he'd said he was gong to be in the lab and didn’t want to be disturbed. Finally Steve pulled up Darcy' number and tapped out a hesitant text; Should I tell Clint he just called me during fondue?

The response came as he was in line at the register and he apologized profusely to the clerk as he hastily paid then stepped out. Why would you care if he called you while he was eating? Steve couldn't imagine that Darcy was unfamiliar with his turn of phrase over fondue...he couldn’t bring himself to type out the actual words to a lady. But, before he had to lament over that, she followed up with; Oooh! Fondue! You too?? Jerk did that to me a few weeks ago, don't worry, I'll go taze him for you.

Hastily Steve replied; No, I'm just not sure what the etiquette for that sort of thing is. Should I tell him? Or should I not? I don't want to embarrass Natasha like that.

He moved along the sidewalk and kept and eye for her reply. Rounding the block he got a reply and looked down. Steeeeeeeeeve! You're so cute! That wasn't fondue, they were just sparring. Apparently Mr. Can'kkepitlockedinhispants was being a whiny bitch. So, yeah, all good! Steve laughed, and glanced around sheepishly. No one, of course, paid him any attention. He was still not used to people talking, or laughing, at nothing, and it made him self-conscious to do the same. But at least there wouldn't be an awkward moment with Clint or Natasha when he got back. As he stepped into the lobby his phone rang once, and he looked at the text. It was from Natasha

So I hear you like to listen in when people fondue....

His mouth fell open in horror as he recalled who Darcy would have most likely gotten her information from...he was doomed!

 

5) Thor

It was a good day in the Avenger's Tower; Thor was particularly pleased it was a Thursday as well. When he'd learned of the Midgardian naming of the days he'd been most flattered that his 'day' fell betwixt those of his parents. Though, he learned quickly that his mother's day was the most favoured by those here on Midgard. He recalled her mirth when he'd told her of the saying of 'TGIF'. But, for a Thursday it was still a wonderful day. He had a promise from his fair Jane that they would go to a place of much wonder that evening. A planetarium she had called it, and he relished the idea of being able to mahaps surprise her by privately speaking with the person who ran such a place. He had star charts from his realm that they could input and give her an idea of the night's sky in his home.

He planned to head over there now to speak with him, and see if such a thing was possible. Recalling that he would need money with which to repay the man for his time and efforts he made a detour. Stopping by his quarters he grabbed the wallet Tony had so helpfully supplied for him while in this realm. Glancing inside he saw that there was plenty of the paper money they preferred, as well as a pair of plastic rectangles. One had his face smiling from it; Tony had called it an 'ID', though it bore the name of one Dr Donald Blake rather than Thor Odinson.

The other rectangular plastic piece bore the same name, as well as the words 'American Express'. He found it most amusing that these people exchanged either flimsy paper or sharp plastic rather than gold. As an after thought he also grabbed the phone he had been provided. Should there be an emergency they would contact him upon this bit of technology so he might join them in battle. Placing both in to the pocket of his denim trousers he patted the handle of Mjölnir, “Not today old friend, this is a battle of the heart I must wage.”

Reaching the lobby he spoke to Happy, Tony's chariot driver, and obtained directions to the planetarium, assured he could easily make it there on foot. Pleased at this he strode out, intent on his mission. The building he sought was easily reached in a few minutes, and he had just stepped inside when his phone rang. Brow furrowing he pulled it from his pocket; while he never cowered in the face of battle he would rather they not have to defend the realm at this exact moment. Seeing the name of the hawk-eyed one on the small display he answered in his customary fashion.

“Hail and well met!” His voice echoed in the entryway. A pinch faced woman made the sound of escaping air that the woman in the house of books oft made at him. Giving her a solemn bow he backed out of the room and waited for Clint to respond.

“...rching for my lost shaker of salt...Some people claim that there's a wooooman to blaaame...but now I think...Hell, it's could be my own damn fault...” Clint appeared to be singing. Thor wondered if it was another attack by the magical Amora. The last time they had faced her in combat the Lady Natasha had spoken in rhyming couplets for a week, and the solemn Son of Coul had spouted out the most amusing limericks.

“Friend Clint, I would assist you! Tell me where you are at!” He boomed into the phone. A passing man gave him an evil look and Thor wondered at his digestion, such a look could only be caused by the foul pain of a meal badly eaten.

“Wastin' away again in margaritaville! Searching for my lost shaker of salt!” Barton warbled; Thor was confused, he had never heard of this place.

“I shall arrive shortly hawk-eyed one! I shall have to ask JARVIS directions so I might meet you to battle this woman!” At the sound of his name the AI came on-line, a convenient tweak Tony had given all their phones.

“How may I assist you today, Thor?” JARVIS' calm tones asked.

“I am attempting to get to Margaritaville so I might assist Clint in battle! But I know not of this location; methinks Jane forgot it while telling me of the areas of the New York.” Thor spotted a likely tall building; it was easier to call Mjölnir from a great height. It did less damage in it’s flight to him, so less paperwork for the Son of Coul. He headed that direction, uncaring of the traffic that blared their horns at him.

“If I may, sir, it appears that Agent Barton has accidentally dialed you while singing. The location you are seeking is not a real place, rather one in the song of the same name. If you'd like I can place the song into your play list so you might familiarize yourself with it?”

Thor's face fell, while he had not relished the idea of postponing his mission he was sad to lose the opportunity to wage war. “That would be most welcome friend JARVIS. But I shall bid you farewell as I am on a mission of utmost importance for my lady!” Hanging up he returned to the front of the planetarium, his eyes lit up at the thought of Jane's smile upon seeing his surprise. Making his way to the desk of the pinch faced one he smiled his best smile and asked to speak to 'the man whom owned such a wondrous building as it could show the stars and planets without the aide of the rainbow bridge.'

 

6) Coulson

For not the first time Coulson swore a blue streak. He'd lost visuals and coms with Barton half an hour ago. He knew that sending him in alone was a horrible idea. But they needed, literally, a bird's eye view of the situation. And since the two flyers of the group were about as subtle as a herd of elephants Barton knew he was going to get to do it. But Phil should have been able to see him, or at least raise him on coms with the code of clicks they'd worked out over the years. But for thirty one minutes, eighteen seconds, there had been nothing. Debating if he should send everyone in, metaphorical guns blazing, his phone rang.

Frowning he pulled it from his jacket. He'd turned it off as they'd headed out; who had...the name on the screen said it all. Barton. Answering it he kept silent, if Clint was using this line of communication it meant his coms system had been compromised. He was right.

“Tell me whom else is out there Agent Barton,” a deep, faintly accented, voice snarled. The words were barely muffled, which meant the other man was practically screaming. On the com line Phil sent a message, in code, to move Natasha. She'd fill in the rest of the team off channel, for now. Now Phil needed to listen, not talk, and get all the information he could.

“Hey, I've no idea what you're talking abut man. I was just out looking for a good place to pick off the pigeons. Hate those damn rats with wings. My boss'd have my hide if he caught me tagging them in public so I thought this place seemed fairly far off his radar. How was I to know some megalomaniac was using this joint to house stolen alien tech?” Leave it to Barton to be the most obviously dumb hostage in the world.

“I would almost believe you, but my men took from you an arsenal that would put many of my best assassins to shame, as well as a very low key, high tech communications set up. To me, this says you are not being honest with me.” The wet sound of fist meeting flesh filled the air and Phil was glad for his iron grip on his emotions. His agents were prepared for this sort of thing, he needed to get Clint out, and to do that he needed more information than he currently had.

After a few minutes the sounds of the beating stopped and a hoarse laugh, Clint's, filled the space. “You know, your goons have big hands, but they don't throw a good punch. Try leading with your shoulder, not your elbow buddy. Or do you not feel you need to practice all that much, what with there being more than two dozen , well...twenty eight exactly...unless I've got double vision from that last hit, guys to back you up?” Phil relayed the numbers to Natasha; twenty nine people including the head guy were easy numbers, almost too small to take the whole team up against. But with the alien tech it would almost be a fair fight...almost. He relayed to hold Thor and Banner back, the close quarters would benefit little from their involvement. A series of fast clicks filled Coulson's other ear. The three were heading in now, they'd call on coms when they'd extracted Barton and tied up the lose ends.

“Agent Barton, if I had not personally crushed your coms line I would think you were relaying information to someone.” The voice was dangerously smooth; the corner of Coulson's mouth kicked up as he imagined the beatifically innocent look that would be on Barton's face.

“Really? You smashed it all by yourself? I'm pretty impressed there buddy...well...except your goon squad forgot to pat down my ass...they must be serious closet cases if they don't check everywhere for fear of getting a li'l grabby. And the lovely thing about my phone? It butt-dials people at the drop of a hat.” The sounds of combat were tinny in the background, letting him know the others had already engaged the other men. Time for him to go in and get his agent out.

Opening his coms he noted, “Clean house folks, I'm coming in.”

**Author's Note:**

> BASD: What it actually means: Big Ass Science Doohickey  
> ...what Darcy tells Jane it means: Bad Ass Science Doohickey


End file.
